Spare Change (Wyattsville #1)(36)

With the moon bright as it was, there was no need to switch on a light. Still, he moved slowly and stuck close to the walls, just in case somebody was watching. Twice he thought he heard the sound of pounding at the door, but it turned out to be only the thumping of his heart. He took the cookie jar from the top shelf of the china closet and emptied it onto the table—nine dollars and sixty-six cents. He crammed the money into his right pocket then moved on to Susanna’s room. His mama had two sets of car keys; Ethan knew that for a fact. She was a person given to locking her keys in the car, then calling home for somebody to come rescue her. Three times, Ethan himself had bicycled down to the diner with her car key jingling in his pocket. He could remember the last time; “Ethan Allen,” she’d cooed across the telephone line, “be a sweetie and bring me my other set of car keys.” He could hear the sugary sound of her voice, but, with the way she was always switching hiding spots to keep Benjamin from finding her secret stuff, he plain out couldn’t fix his memory on where that last place had been.

Ethan lifted the lid of the jewelry box, but before he could do any searching, music began bing-bonging like a brass band. He instantly slammed the lid closed; she’d never hide the keys there anyway—too obvious. Still trying to recall his mama’s words, the boy rummaged through drawer after drawer with no luck. He fished under the bed far as he could reach, still nothing. He squeezed his fingers into the toe of every shoe, checked the zipper pouch of an old grey pocketbook and shook eight lacy brassieres hoping the keys would fall out. He was on the verge of tears when his mama’s voice came to him. “Sugar, get my car keys, and bring them to me,” she’d said, “…they’re hidden in the pocket of my blue audition dress.”

Ethan went tearing out the front door—her audition dress was one thing Susanna would never leave without—sure enough, in the back seat of the car was her suitcase. He snapped it open and right there on top was the blue sequined dress, a set of car keys in the pocket. He needed just one more thing and knew exactly where it was.

For years he’d saved those cards, envelope and all, it seemed somehow nice to think he had a grandpa. Ethan would carry the folded dollar bill in his pocket for months on end, without spending it. With the dollar bill in his pocket, he could imagine a grandpa who might one Christmas Eve show up with an armload of presents, or a pony— sometimes he could even imagine a grandma who roasted turkeys and smelled of chocolate chip cookies. Ethan dug down to the bottom of his baseball card box and hauled up the greeting cards signed, love Grandpa. On the back flap of every envelope was a carefully written return address. No telephone number, but he didn’t need one. He stuffed the cards into his left pocket and walked out the door, leaving it to swing open behind him.

Ethan lifted the dog into his mama’s car then slid behind the wheel. He sat for a moment then stuck the key in the ignition. Inching forward in the seat, he stretched his toe toward the clutch pedal. He could barely reach it. The other times he’d driven, Susanna had been behind him, he’d leaned his back against her and easily enough reached the pedals. He scooted up to the front edge of the seat, where he could lay his foot flat on the pedal. At first it seemed to work; but the car had a heavy clutch that had to be pressed clear to the floor before the transmission would slide from one gear to the next, so when he tried to push down on the clutch, he slid back to his original position. Three times he gave it a go; then he got out of the car, took hold of Susanna’s valise and wedged it up against the back of the driver’s seat. It was a boxy thing, which didn’t leave a whole lot of room for his body, but once he’d squeezed behind the wheel, he knew for sure he wouldn’t be sliding back. He tried again. With a grunt, he pushed the pedal to the floor; he turned the key and mumbling, “Thanks, Mama,” shifted into reverse.

Once Ethan was out of the driveway, he slid the gearshift into first, then second, then third and was on his way—him, his mama’s suitcase, and Dog. With the moon bright as it was, he could see well enough to drive without lights, which meant there was less likelihood of someone spotting the slow-moving car as it crossed over the back roads and headed toward the old towpath. It was a dirt road that ran alongside the canal and stretched clear to the end of the island. Best of all, no one ever used it; so he wasn’t gonna encounter some wise-ass policeman asking if he wasn’t a tad young to be driving a car. Ethan thumped down the Miller’s tractor run for almost two miles then he spotted the towpath and turned onto it. The towpath ran behind a stretch of farms, farms where people might be on the lookout for an escaped kid Ethan figured, so he continued to drive without lights. He sat small behind the wheel and had to stretch his nose to keep an eye on where he was headed, but he was moving, putting distance between himself and Scooter Cobb. After several hours, once he believed himself to be out of the county and far enough away to be safe, he began feeling hungry and took to wishing he’d brought along a snack. A sandwich maybe; and some dog food. Probably even his third baseman’s mitt. “Shit-fire!” Ethan grumbled, thinking back on all the things he’d stupidly left behind.

A short while before sunup, when there were streaks of red poking splinters into the sky but still no daylight, the car sputtered to a stop. “What-the-hell?” Ethan groaned. He tried starting the car again. The engine coughed once then settled into a hollow whine. Susanna had taught Ethan to drive—start the engine, shift gears, stop and go; but she’d not bothered with the necessity of gas-buying. The boy twisted the ignition key numerous times then finally gave up. He took hold of Dog’s rope and stepped out onto the road. “You hunk of junk,” he said, giving the fender one last kick before they began walking south along the towpath—him kicking at the dirt, the dog panting as if he was thirsting for a drink of water. “Forget it,” Ethan moaned, “We ain’t got none.” Once the light of morning broke, they turned east in search of a main road, some food and water, and hopefully someone who could give them a ride to Wyattsville.